


When Your Life Lies In The Hands Of The Sacred

by robertstanion



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Grieving, M/M, a rewrite of a tumblr fic, damn i hope xander doesnt kill me in my dream tonight/j, johns alive, lmao no, lol, probably a sign i should stop hurting mcnamander, uh, xander isnt though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertstanion/pseuds/robertstanion
Summary: xander dies on a mission. this is the aftermath
Relationships: Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	When Your Life Lies In The Hands Of The Sacred

Standing at the airport, he waited. He waited for so long. His agents, his proud, brave agents were returning. The majority of the precinct had been gone for the past week. They’d been trying to recover the missing source, or locate it at most. They’d been trying to find the source that stayed deep underground in the manner in the middle of another remote island off of the coast of Michigan only few knew about. PEIP were lucky to have found out about it when they did. The book, of course. The book, encased in leather binding and a silver clasp, would be the death of him and everyone else if placed in the enemy’s hand. That book had been a nightmare for PEIP for years at that point, and now the agents were returning.

He was there to greet his husband, Xander Lee. He’d tried to convince Xander not to go, but with both as stubborn as the other, Xander won the fight and he’d lost. He had a feeling the other agents knew that he was waiting for his husband and therefore wouldn’t disturb him. He greeted each of them individually as they passed, and they all smiled politely.

Except one.

He walked up, and immediately the air became colder. He walked up, stoic, and took John’s hand, placing the empty palm facing upwards. He dropped a silver chain against the skin, departing shortly after, leaving John alone.

John furrowed his eyebrows, but he looked down anyway. There were dog tags in his hand. One of his agents wasn’t making it home. But, attached to the chain was something else. Another two objects made of brilliant silver, pure and heavy in his hand…but they weren’t any two rings. A wedding and an engagement ring, the other two that fit the set of the ones he wore proudly on his own hand.

Xander’s…chain. Xander’s…Xander’s rings…

The world stopped spinning, and his life stopped. Tears tried to force their way out of his eyes as he registered Xander wasn’t coming home that night. He wasn’t coming home at _all._ Time stood still, as did he. Another agent approached him, asking him if he was okay. He lied. He allowed his fingers to close over the chains and the rings before he spun on his heel and walked out of the building less proudly than he’d done when he stepped inside.

He got into their c- _his_ car now, and began to drive away, never once letting go of the chains. Every single car who went too slow or stopped too quickly angered him. He couldn’t depict why, and he wanted to know. He’d never had to grieve someone before. He hadn’t had a chance with Wilbur. Being his mentee, he was expected to take up the position of General, so he was thrown straight into training. He hadn’t realised how cruel it was until that moment when he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He couldn’t decipher why he was so infuriated at seemingly nothing.

As soon as he was inside their home, as soon as the front door was locked, he collapsed to the ground. Legs weak and breathing staggered, he threw his vest off on to the floor, harsh sobs falling, tumbling into the air. Questions spilled entwined with the sobs that he was throwing away, that were getting louder by the second. The memories of him and his husband were everywhere; their wedding, them in high school, them in PEIP. It had always been ‘ _John and Xander’…_ now it was just John.

When he made it up the stairs, he changed into the oldest pair of pyjamas he could find, ones he hoped had no memories of Xander attached to them. As soon as he was in bed, he turned his back away from where Xander should be lying. He didn’t move after that. When an agent came to check up on him, John hadn’t realised how badly he’d miscalculated time until he’d been told he hadn’t been lying in that bed neglecting himself for a couple of days, but close to a couple of months. He hadn’t eaten, slept or drank properly in that time period…and he’d missed the funeral.

The next thing he knew, he was being escorted personally to Xander’s grave, to where Xander Lee was lay to rest for eternity. They approached the private site, and the agent left him to grieve once more. It was beautiful, the grey headstone already had bluebells surrounding it. They’d placed the headstone there deliberately, he could tell. He stepped forward, Xander’s chain around his neck. He collapsed forward, gripping the headstone, tears he didn’t realise were still in him falling again. Donned in black, he didn’t move for hours. _“Why did it have to be you?”_ He asked the grave softly, not expecting a response. _“It should have been me.”_

He went back to work shortly afterwards, to clear out Xander’s laboratory. Memories stung. He had no idea how many photos Xander kept of them in there until he was packing them up into boxes. Once he collected the majority of Xander’s possessions, he locked the door to the lab and carried the boxes out to his car. That lab would _never_ be used again. He went back to his office once he’d finished loading the car up. He was colder than usual, but what was he supposed to do? He slumped down in his chair, a flask attached at the hip that burned his tongue when he sipped it.

He was still refusing help, but the only person he could have given him help was the man who lay six feet underground. He lost a part of himself when Xander died, and from there on out, General John McNamara would _never_ be the same again.

**Author's Note:**

> i lean up to the microphone, tapping it gently. i am very quiet. I say: "he's in your bed, and i'm in your twitch chat" everyone goes fucking mental, as they should
> 
> anyway shoutout to zoya who's gonna complain to me that i keep hurting mcnamander but johns alive now so-/lh


End file.
